Dream Beneath A Desert Sky
by CurveOfTheMoon
Summary: GL and WW are missing in action after a mission goes awry. The League struggles with the situation, but Batman, in particular, doesn't sleep very well.


Disclaimer: I do not own anything, I'm not making a profit... blah blah blah... 

(ONE-SHOT)

Batman couldn't believe the news today.

J'onn reported that John and Diana were missing in action.

It was a simple mission. Routine.

Routine is never good.

According to the simulations he ran with the information he was given, a chemical reaction progressed into an uncontrollable state where they were located, causing a rift to form and possibly sending them to another dimension.

They were at a laboratory research facility in Antarctica. Headquarters of SciLab, a company suspected of performing unlawful experimentation. Diana went in to investiate. Discreetly, of course. The homing device in her ear comm signaled that it had been removed from her ear; highly unlikely and deserving of concern. J'onn tried to get a response, but received none. He contacted John, the nearest Leaguer, operating in Northern Canada negotiating a hostage situation, to help and find out what was going on. 

Then both of their ear comms were removed. Superman and Flash went in. There was no one there, but they gathered the necessary evidence.

Which led to the present. They were missing in action. Most likely in another dimension. Or halfway across the universe. Or in another time period. There was no way to know. J'onn tried searching for them with his mind but couldn't sustain it for very long and it exhausted him.

They would need to wait it out.

He'd just finished telling J'onn, Flash, Superman, and Hawkgirl what he knew. A special meeting had been called. He was done explaining and discussing. Time to get back to work. In private.

Shayera Hol was dazed. She hadn't spoken throughout the meeting and was on the fringes of the group's semicircle, almost out of sight. Batman passed by (Shayera detected a strange shift in his body language but pretended not to notice). She listened absent-mindedly to J'onn's transmissions requesting help and Superman and Flash talking. Snapping out of it, she ruffled her wings, and decided to go back to her quarters. Quietly turning, she left.

The lift seemed slower than usual. She yearned to fly around, to feel a breeze in her face again. The doors whooshed open, allowing her access to the wide hallway. It was adorned with decorations put up by the inactive members of the League in their off-time. Even a mural had been painted on, depicting battles from ancient times to the present. At the end, there was a picture of Hro and the Thanagarian army, representing the latest battle. Beside it was a red heart and poem with a small peace sign.

Suddenly feeling angry with herself and everything everywhere, she determinedly marched back to the lift, going down to the training rooms. She felt a violent need to hit something. As soon as the doors opened, she tore out of there, looking for a good room.

There it was: big, wide open, with plenty of room to fly. No one was inside; in fact, it seemed like the entire area was deserted. Walking over to the weapons rack, she picked out a good-sized sword. No mace for today. She flew around to warm up. Then she started a training program with floating targets, smashing them up, slicing them apart, executing countless kicks and combos. Beads of sweat began to form as she continued, her rage and shame driving her to take it out on something. Finally, after Wave 25, she stopped, panting. The program shut down, and all was silent. Her white shirt was soaked with sweat. Her sweats clung to her legs. Damp red hair was plastered to the sides of her face. She sat down against the wall, closing her eyes and not thinking about anything.

Yells from another room startled her; she'd thought no one was around. She wrote them off. She didn't care at the moment. She just wanted to lay here in misery and feel sorry for herself. She hated herself and the world. It was one of those moments where she wanted to get away from everything. But the yells continued, and the more she listened, the more they sounded pain-ridden. Groaning, she got up, half-annoyed, half-alarmed. Hefting the sword, just in case, she jogged around, trying to locate the room they were coming from. They got louder, and she heard muffled words mixed in as well, echoing strangely off the walls. Sure she'd arrived at her destination, she peeked around the corner of the open doorway.

Her breath caught. She was taken by surprise at the scene before her...

Batman was kneeling on the ground, shaking, muscles quivering. He tried to raise his hands, but couldn't quite lift them up.

"Lift yourself up!" He roared at himself, obviously very angry. His body tried to obey, but couldn't get him up all the way, leaving him to collapse on the floor, still shaking. Batarangs were littered throughout the area, and a singe target dummy was out, bolted to the ground. For a few seconds there was silence.

Out of nowhere, he got up, and began a grueling series of kicks, punches, and more batarang throwing. The target was constantly being attacked, swaying from side to side, taking jabs, hooks, uppercuts, roundhouse kicks, and a combination of everything, basically. Batarangs twanged off the sides of the dummy's neck, chest, and arms. Finally, getting fed up, he took it by the neck and completely wrenched it off the floor. Spinning, he threw it across the room, crashing it into the wall and slumping down.

Batman lowered himself to his haunches and squatted, breathing slightly faster than normal. But his muscles had begun to spasm again, and he let himself fall forward on his stomach, eyes shut.

Shayera, watching the whole thing in fascination and fear, hesitated, then slowly approached.

"Batman?" She spoke quietly, for it seemed the rooms amplified sounds, and all was quiet. No response. "Bruce?"

"What are you doing?" He demanded, eyes opened, glaring at her.

"I heard yelling."

"You came. Why?" He interrogated, wanting a straight answer.

"Just checking," she defended herself, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Don't do it again," he warned, eyes narrowing.

She nodded casually, respecting his privacy, although she felt slightly put off by his attitude. "Anything the matter?"

"No," he growled.

"Sorry," she apologized, and left.

(M)

It was the second day of John and Diana's disappearance. No one seemed to have gotten any sleep. Bruce Wayne stayed in his quarters for most of the day, coming out only to eat at odd times.

Needless to say, he felt traces of guilt enter him. He knew he couldn't have helped them, but an overwhelming sense of failure enveloped him. There was something he should have done... He angrily criticized himself for not seeing it before, for not being there, for not being able to solve the mystery of their location.

And then there was Diana. He'd developed a subtle fondness for her, however much he denied it. That's what maddened him the most; he knew he had it coming if he decided to let her in. He_ knew_ it. It ate away at him, one side taunting, _I told you so_ and other desperately trying to argue back, saying, _You can't live your entire life like a hermit_. He was torn, although he hid it rather well. He felt like kicking himself. He hated these situations anyways. But now, to make it worse, he had foolishly become involved, and this time it was personal. He slammed a fist down on his keyboard and grabbed a handful of hair. He seriously wanted to hurt himself, someone, or something. Then Batman flooded his system, steadying his emotions, restoring him to an even keel. Deep breaths.

He glanced up. Six o'clock in the evening. Time for dinner. Reluctantly rising from the chair, he resumed being the man of his reputation.

There were a spattering of people in the dining room: Green Arrow, Black Canary, Booster Gold and Skeets, Fire and Ice, Supergirl, Elongated Man, and The Question, most notably. Glancing around, he noticed Hawkgirl alone in a corner, looking out the viewport at the emptiness of space. Her steak sat untouched.

Prepared to grab his own dinner and head back to his room, he suddenly felt a presence at his side.

"How ya doin' Bats?" It was Flash. He inwardly groaned. It was definitely not the time for his antics. He was feeling rather grumpy, more so than usual. Taking a short, clipped breath, he turned and gave Flash his best glare.

"Can you not look so constipated for once?" He laughed. Had Batman not been so grumpy, he would have allowed himself a small smile. But today, he just clenched his teeth and told Flash to leave.

"No way. You're not going frumpy-grumpy on me today. No more Mr. Antisocial." With that, he used his lightning-quick reflexes to grab Batman by the arm and drag him aroundfor a few seconds. Once Batman regained a sense of where he was, he yanked on Flash's arm, pulling him down, and swung himself around, sweeping Flash's feet out from under him. He landed on top of Batman, who immediately got up and regained his composure and dignity. Flash was rolling on the floor, cracking up and having a good time. Some of the heroes watching the whole spectacle were chuckling as well. Getting his bearings, Batman found himself towards the back of the dining room, a few feet from Hawkgirl and also near The Question. Flash rose up and waved to Hawkgirl. She gave him a sad smile, and he went over to her table.

"How about that Bat? We were flying around this joint!" He babbled to her, hands on hips, brilliant smile on his lips. Batman, angry as ever, walked over to "correct" the problem. He grabbed Flash and got him in a fierce headlock.

"Don't. Ever. Do. That. Again," he snapped, letting go.

"Someone had a bad day," Hawkgirl observed.

"Likewise," Batman said. Hawkgirl gave him a stare, and Batman gave it right back, and then some. He leaned over the table, close to her face.

"I think I'm gonna leave now," Flash mentioned, then was gone.

"Don't get into it with me today," Batman advised. He turned around. Hawkgirl caught him on the arm.

"Where are you going?" She asked, annoyed. He didn't answer... She ripped off a piece of her steak and chomped it down, determined not to provoke a fight. But it kept growing inside of her, that ball of anger, nagging at her, and after a few minutes, she went back out to try and find him.

She found his quarters, and knocked loudly.

"I want to talk to you," she called.

"Sorry." She pounded on the door.

"Stop," he commanded. When it didn't cease, he ignored it. Their stubborn personalities battled. Batman gritted his teeth, trying to concentrate on his screen. Hawkgirl kept at it, despite the growing pain in her knuckles and hands. It went on for quite some time. Then the banging got quieter, and he heard footsteps...

Finally, she went away. He sighed. At last, he could refocus on his work.

(M)

Day nine of the disappearance.

Gloom and doom was the name of the game. Even Flash seemed dampened.

The other Leaguers began to wonder what was going on, where GL and Wonder Woman were. They were given little information, but enough to sate their appetite.

Shayera was struggling internally. She cared about John and just wanted him to be alright. Even though they technically weren't "together", she still loved him, if not in the same way or as strongly as before. She missed him anyways. She wanted to talk. He'd been on so many missions, there hadn't been time. Superman and Flash were fine to her, but Batman and his attitude were making her miserable. He was so arrogant all the time! Didn't Mr. Mood Reader realize what she was going through? He had no sympathy...

She just wanted to know that John was okay...

It was starting to tear her apart. She worried about it far too much, she realized, but couldn't help it. When she walked by images of him in the hallways, she could feel the pain in her chest. She was desperately hoping he was alive. Every night she prayed to anyone that would listen to bring him back safe. She'd never set things totally right, never told him what she wanted him to know... It was pure misery.

Then during the evening, Flash made an honorary announcement for Wonder Woman. Then he proclaimed, "In these blackest nights, we'll be praying and hoping and waiting for you, GL."

She mentally screamed and went to bed.

Little did she know Batman was doing the same. He pondered about Hawkgirl and the whole mess she'd gotten herself into. Of course, he'd voted for expulsion. His reputation demanded it. But inside himself, he wasn't so sure. He kept files on the League. Not for enemy purposes, but just in case someone managed to take over their minds... Luck favors the prepared. And since the Thanagarian threat was eliminated and she was pretty much labeled as a disgrace to her people, he highly doubted that she would still be spying on them. Or doing anything else. Alfred made it clear that he supported and admired her, and Batman wasn't one to take his judgments lightly. In a perfect world, he would have voted to keep her in, but maybe allow everyone some time off to rethink the whole situation and cool down.

Enough for the day. He turned off the light and settled in to sleep.

(...In the mists of his dream...)

He was actually flying, and flying faster than a speeding bullet at that. He was racing in dry and arid air, feeling the scorching sun on his batsuit. It was bright, much too bright for his tastes. He glanced below him and saw a massive sea of light brown... and then the gaping crater. The Gobi Desert.

The site of the Thanagarian defeat.

And someone was there. He knew it would be Hawkgirl... Shayera.

Then suddenly his perspective switched. He was now omnipresent, hovering slightly above the scene.

Shayera's eyes began to sting. She wiped away forming tears before they could fall. The desert was empty, purged, it seemed. She could relate. She knelt and sank down in the sand, head up to the blue, cloudless sky, hands dropped uselessly down to her sides. Then the tears flowed. They were tears of shame, for her unfaithfulness. They were tears of regret, for her lies. And they were tears of embarrassment, for her weakness.

Hands placed themselves on her shoulders.

She wasn't surprised. She was too depressed to be. Trying to regain some form of composure, she turned to face whoever it was. A black, caped figure she knew too well... Batman.

She lowered her gaze and let herself be seen as she truly felt: hopeless. It was pointless to keep up with these masks.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, hands at his sides, looking down at her.

"You don't understand," she whispered, rivers still freely flowing from her eyes.

"I try," he answered, in is characteristic monotone.

"What do you want?"

"I should be asking you."

"Just leave me be," she pleaded, fiercely wanting him to go.

"I'm concerned," he reasoned.

"No, you're not."

"I am." It was a simply-spoken statement of truth.

"Stop being stubborn. I just... miss John. And I'm sorry. I created this crater. I did this. And I can't erase it."

He carefully and slowly knelt down beside her and placed an arm around her shoulders, looking at her broken face and dull eyes. Shayera was taken aback; she didn't think the Dark Knight was capable of such things. The Big Bad Bat, throwing an arm around a needy friend... And she remembered that Diana was more than just a teammate to him. _We've both been coping with the same thing._ Two souls sharing the same problem.

"Hawkgirl-" He was interrupted.

"Don't start an argument again." She genuinely wanted to be on good terms.

He tried to reply to her earlier confession once more.

"Shayera, I accept your apology."

She was surprised to find him referring to her by her name. He felt helpless; there was not much he could do to console her.

"I'm just feeling overwhelmed." She put her head in her hands. "It won't go away. The guilt. I can't rid myself of it."

He encircled her in his arms. It was a tight hug, him wanting very badly to end another's suffering and her wanting something to hang onto. She fought hard to keep control of herself and to keep from letting out the anguish. He shut his eyes.

Drawing back, Batman had no choice but to meet her eyes. It was true, what they said, about the eyes being a window to the soul. And Batman saw it all.

He realized something about himself. As Bruce Wayne, he could have any woman he wanted. The physical attraction was nothing, he was numb to it. No effect. It was the emotional and spiritual attraction which he craved. Someone he could truly connect with.

He was crossing a line, and he knew it.

But he couldn't stop himself. He leaned in very close and let the kiss happen.

Her nerves were completely shot. Her mind was on overload. At the moment, all she wanted was something or someone to lean against, to be her rock. And Bruce found her. He was welcome. He shared the burden with her. His feelings connected with her own, fulfilling them both. He broke away, allowing himself to fully admire her beauty, both inside and out. He'd never seen it before... And he felt as if he were in the presence of the greatest miracle in the world.

Her mind was on the same track. She'd never stopped to think about him. What he was like behind the mask. He was a human being. Complete with feelings. Capable of trust. Capable of love. Had he not just proved it? Reputation, her foot... She smiled. He took his cowl off, a symbolic gesture, revealing the true Bruce Wayne.

He rose and offered her a hand. She took it.

(...End...)

Batman woke up, heart beating furiously.

His mind vividly remembered the dream.

He was half-alarmed, half-disgusted, and half-something else. And that was too many halves.

He thought about the dream. It was too disturbing. Why would he want to be involved with Shayera? His unconscious was trying to tell him something. There were parallels... He'd had an abnormal amount of encounters with Shayera on emotionally-charged circumstances throughout the past week. He was looking for a new identity with Diana's help: one which embraced love. Shayera, likewise, was looking for new identity, probably with John: one which embraced trust. She'd had to choose between duty and feelings...was he struggling with the same problem? His duty to the world versus his feelings for Diana, however small they may be? He, too, could possibly have to make a decision. There were too many coincidences here.

And he didn't believe in coincidence.

When it came down to it, the dream was about friendship. It was clearly telling him to help Shayera. The end, where he offered her a hand, was blatant proof of it. He didn't know what part the romantic element played in it. It may have been about missing Diana. Or maybe not. Either way, friendship was the key player here.

He shifted and studied the clock. It was 4:15 in the morning. Never too early to get up...

Donning his suit, he walked out, heading to the kitchen.

The _Watchtower_ was silent. Just a small humming noise penetrated the stillness.

Lightly stepping into the kitchen, he stopped. It was Shayera. He had to remember that she didn't know about the dream. Taking a breath, he made himself some tea and waited for her to break the silence.

"Couldn't sleep?" She asked, eyebrow raised. She was still hostile towards him, never having gotten over her thing about his attitude.

"Actually..." He paused, unsure of what to say. "I had a dream."

"Care to share?"

He almost choked. "Um, no. Maybe sometime in the future."

Her eyebrow raised higher.

"Don't ask."

"I'm not going to."

Silence. He cautiously looked up at her. Her eyes met his. Window to the soul. It was deja vu. He could feel the power of her stare... She was still beating herself up over the incident and the betrayal.

"I accept your apology, Shayera," he gently whispered, just like the dream, almost as if he were testing its reality.

Her eyes softened. "Thanks, Bruce."

He thought he could detect wetness near her eyes, but she looked down. Reputations...

She did not know Bruce to be one to extend an olive branch, nor did she know how he read her thoughts, but...he was Batman. You could never tell with him.

"John will be back," he reassured her, with a little smile.

She smiled back. "So will Diana."

He took her hand, uniting them in a newly-forged friendship.

**A/N:** If there's some weird mistakes in here, sorry. I'm not sure if it formatted correctly, I had to re-edit because double dashes and some parts weren't showing up. But thanks for reading. Feel free to leave a review. I've always liked the idea of a BM/HG relationship, but yes yes yes I know, it's HG/GL. I accept it. I just like to be different ;-) For everyone who spied the title as a U2 lyric, you rock. If you spotted the first line from Sunday Bloody Sunday, you're even better. Good job... and I'm done. I just been needing to get this out of my head for a long time.


End file.
